


let me hold your crown

by snubfin



Category: Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Alpha/Alpha, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Play Fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 23:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11474118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snubfin/pseuds/snubfin
Summary: Jon is a professional. Chris is a good friend. Hormonal cycles are an invention of the Devil.





	let me hold your crown

Jon slept badly.

He had uneasy dreams, stitched together from hunger and searching and glimpses of slick bare skin, and his bed when he woke was both cramped and furiously empty. He woke grinding himself into the mattress and didn't realise it until after he snoozed his alarm. Couldn't stay home to deal with it. At least it was a matinee Sunday, he could do the show and come straight home and spend two days working himself over.

God, but he hated being in rut. He washed himself with a stinging savagery, in lukewarm water because he couldn't bear the sensation of hot, scrubbing as if his skin had offended him. He could smell himself under the soap. Could hear the weary echo of his last boyfriend, _just be nice to yourself, Jon, take it easy,_ and he slammed the bottle of shampoo down and dragged his nails against his scalp to get it clean. His body wasn't being nice to him, why should he be gentle with it? He shuddered washing between his legs and rinsed three times, trying to make his skin stop buzzing.

He got smirked at on the subway and pretended he didn't want to crawl into a hole and cry.

The Richard Rodgers wasn't louder or busier than usual, it was just full of people Jon didn't want to talk to, ever, in his entire life. He waved at folks on his way through the common room and didn't stop until he could shut the dressing room door and drop his head against it. Commute to work done. Fine. Next thing. Get in costume. He could do that. He had time.

Chris opened the door while he was putting on his stockings, distracted by the prickly sensation of rolling them up his calves, and stood broad and cross-armed in the doorway.

“So you _are_ sulking in here.”

Jon tugged the stocking into place above his knee. “I'm not sulking.”

“Someone said they saw a bear come growling past this morning. You going to be okay to do the show?”

“I'm fine.”

Chris sniffed. Jon hated him for noticing. “You sure? We can send Hawk on for you, that's what he's here for. If it's going to be a problem -”

“I'm _fine_.” Jon wanted to be dignified but he was already on his feet and crowding Chris a little, getting up in his space. “I can do my damn job. Don't insult me.”

Chris held the eye contact for a long moment. Jon could feel himself bristling. He finally broke it to look away over Jon's shoulder and shake his head and Jon _hated_ him. “You know, you don't have to handle this alone.”

Hurt spiked him up, a flash he couldn't quite hide. “I don't need an omega to pity-fuck me.”

“Who said anything about an omega?”

Chris kissed him.

Jon was paralysed for a moment, need flooding through him. He wanted. God, how he wanted, just to be _touched_ – He pulled himself away, locking the whimper in his throat where it couldn't escape to shame him. His hands rose between them and Jon shoved hard, pushing Chris back a few steps. He should slam the door behind him and make him leave. He said “Fuck off, Jackson, and let me suffer in peace.”

Chris's jaw clenched. He stalked back in like a tiger and Jon backed away from his presence until his back hit the wall. Chris braced his arms either side of Jon's head. “I can take it. I know how you're feeling. But if you push anyone else around like that there will be _consequences._ You're not irreplaceable. You understand me?”

He took a deep breath through his mouth, trying to get himself under control, get his heart to stop pounding. “Sorry.”

“Okay.” Chris rocked back onto his heels. “Think about it. The offer stands.”

He braced the door open on its rubber stopper when he left. Jon picked up his scarlet breeches with hands that wanted to shake.

Renee came in not long after. She didn't say anything, just settled herself down on Lin's couch and kicked her feet up. She never put her costume shoes on until the last minute and it looked comfortably homely, her stockinged feet under her cream skirts, propped up on the cushions. Jon stared at her miserably in the mirror.

She smiled at him when he finally turned around. “Sit.”

“What?”

Renee patted the edge of the cushion beside her. “Sit.”

Jon gave up. He sat on the floor and let his head fall back onto the cushions. Renee was an omega, he'd never been attracted to omegas, and she wasn't in heat. She did nothing for the itch inside him and that very fact made her immensely soothing. “Hi, Renee.”

“You know, I used to do the same thing before I had kids. Come to work and pretend like nothing was happening while my insides were turning to soup. I do not miss that.”

“It _sucks_ ,” Jon admitted.

“It surely does. You're not on birth control?”

Jon turned his head to look up at her. “I don't get on with hormones. Side effects. And my doctor won't prescribe the good stuff because I don't have kids.”

“Jon, honey, you're gay.”

“I know that. And my doctor knows that. And yet – _oh -_ still no birth control.” Renee's fingers carded through his hair. He turned into the touch like a cat.

“Get a better doctor.”

“Mm. Yeah. You're right. Doesn't help me now, though.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Do the show. Go home. Wait it out.”

Renee sighed. “Jon. You deserve better. No friend you can call?”

“Not really.”

“You could probably find someone. I wouldn't judge you for it.”

“I could, but...” Jon frowned at the ceiling, trying to parse his instinctive distaste for the idea. “I don't like to when it's like this. Don't want to be that vulnerable with a stranger. And I _don't_ like taking them home.”

“Protecting our nests,” Renee said sympathetically, and scratched him behind his ear for a moment. Jon wanted to curl up and just stay, but the ten-minute call crackled through the speaker, and Renee stood up. “Get your wig on, babe, you're not dressed yet.”

“Thanks,” Jon said, not meaning for the reminder, and Renee patted his shoulder on her way out.

The show was fine. He wasn't wrong about that. King George was written as an angry jilted lover anyway; easiest thing in the world when he was like this. He channelled his hunger into the manic presence on stage and spent the time in between holed up in his dressing room, listening to Javi killing it over the speaker and trying not to remember Chris kissing him. He thought about letting Chris into his space and his hackles rose. He didn't need that right now. He'd go home and take himself in hand and it would be over in a day or two.

Chris came into his dressing room again after the bows. Jon was back in his street clothes and he took a perverse pleasure in that, in robbing him of a chance to see Jon half-dressed again. “I spoke to Veronica,” Chris said.

“Really.” Jon braced his hands against the vanity and didn't turn around. He could feel Chris moving close behind him. “I'm happy for you.”

“She said, and I quote, “you boys have fun”. And that there's a hotel she recommends that takes last-minute bookings.”

Jon's shoulders curled. “You shouldn't have done that. You wasted your money.”

“I didn't book it yet.” Chris was very close now. Jon swore he could feel the warmth of his body seeping past his shirt. “Point is, I'm married. I'm happy. I'm not looking to have an affair. So if all you want is skin contact, that's okay with me. I won't be disappointed. I'm just offering. As a friend, because you'd do the same for me.”

Jon snorted. “No, I wouldn't, I'm a selfish prick.”

“OK.” Chris touched the back of his neck, rubbing, where the tension knotted up worst. Jon groaned and immediately tried to pretend he hadn't. “I am, though.”

Skin contact. Company. Jon flashed on the image of Chris pressing him down, solid and warm and present, and his belly knotted with hunger. He didn't want it. He didn't need it. Chris wasn't his type. Wasn't even his preferred _sex_.

“I'll still be a prickly asshole,” he said finally. “You know that, right?”

“Then you'll be a prickly asshole who feels better. Do you keep a change of clothes here?”

Jon did, usually, but he'd lent the t-shirt to Lin and forgotten to replace it, so he had to go home first. Chris texted him an address and a room number when he got out of the subway, so then he couldn't get out of it without being a dick, even though the thought of how he'd behaved burned him up. It was going to get worse. He was going to have to let Chris see him stripped down to animal instinct and he hated being that way even in private, but there was a black hole of misery forming inside him and if he didn't want to live in it for the next week he had to swallow his shame and go back.

He avoided eye contact with the receptionist and rapped on the hotel door.

Chris didn't keep him waiting for long. Not long enough for Jon's half-formed expectation of being stood up to flower into real worry. He opened the door and stepped back, letting Jon get inside under his own steam, and then he crowded him against the wall.

Jon dropped his rucksack. His hands came up automatically, grabbing at Chris's shoulders, whether to pull closer or push away he wasn't sure. Chris pressed their foreheads together and held his hips, almost chaste, while Jon's breathing went ragged between them. He growled when Chris leant closer, and screwed his eyes shut, instantly embarrassed. “Sorry,” he rasped.

“Not a problem.” Chris squeezed his waist a little. “Skin contact?”

Jon managed to nod. The huge formless _want_ threatened to choke him and Chris delicately unbuttoning his shirt didn't help with that at all but he couldn't resist. There was a hand brushing soft against his belly and it drove all the breath out of him.

“You're okay,” Chris said. “You're doing fine.” Jon's cock was swelling in his jeans but it could wait, it didn't matter. He clung to Chris's shoulders and trembled. Hands on his waist, his ribs, his chest, stroking. His muscles were coiled up tight, wanting to fight, wanting to fuck. Nails in his back and that set him growling again. Chris petted the place he'd scratched.

“Not that, huh? Thought I'd try. It relaxes some people.”

Jon tried to loosen his grip and only managed to get one hand onto Chris's arm instead of clutching at his shoulder. “Sorry. It just riles me up.”

“If you get riled up, that's okay. You want to lie down?”

“Give me a minute?” Jon wanted Chris fucking into him like a pile driver but he wouldn't say that and he wouldn't let himself be led wobbly-legged to bed so he needed a moment, just to let the hands on his skin soothe him down, just to breathe.

Chris gave good hug. He was big and muscled and so _warm_ , he was burning Jon's skin where they touched. He'd stripped down to his boxers and Jon should have done the same, it was his fault they were here, but he was clinging to his self-control. Chris had tangled their legs together anyway and pressed his bare chest to Jon's back. Jon could feel the shivers racing up and down his bones, making him twitch when they ran together. His cock ached. He'd undone the fly on his jeans a while back but he wasn't touching himself. He was gripping Chris's arm beneath his head while he rubbed slow circles on Jon's stomach with the other hand, scaldingly hot.

“You need to come,” Chris said in his ear, and Jon flinched from how it tickled. He shook his head.

“I'm fine.”

“You're not. There's no prize for being stubborn. Let me help you out.”

Jon opened his eyes and stared at his hand on Chris's arm, how their skin contrasted. He could feel his hips rocking gently, his body searching for stimulation. He said, “You said you were only offering skin contact.”

“I said, if that's all you wanted. But you still need to look after yourself. You want me to give you some time? I can take a walk, come back when you're ready -” but Jon's hand had tightened on his arm and Chris sighed gently behind him. He sat up a little and Jon rolled away from him and snarled into the pillow. Chris loomed over him, his hand coming heavy on Jon's back. Jon tensed. “You don't want it easy,” Chris said. “You don't want me to go. You want to fight me?”

Jon's fingers curled. Chris leaned down on him and repeated himself in a voice laced with growling, “I _said_ , do you want to fight me, boy?”

It rocked him. It landed like a weight in the pit of his belly and when he caught his balance he could hear himself panting through his bared teeth. He turned his head and saw Chris rolling on his back, his grin bright and welcoming, and Jon reared up and landed hard, his hands bent into claws on Chris's chest.

Chris was bigger, and Jon was younger, and both of them worked out; they were pretty evenly matched. Chris met him growl for growl and got his teeth into Jon's shoulder. Jon raked his nails along Chris's arms and couldn't quite twist to get a bite of his own but the trying made the pain sing golden through his nerves. He pinned one wrist above Chris's head and howled for the nails in his own skin, hard and fast down his exposed back. Chris tried to roll them, couldn't, kept Jon's legs tangled anyway so he couldn't pull out of the bear-hug. He let Jon chew on his shoulder while he pushed at his jeans and Jon agreed and stopped biting so he could help one-handed and kick them out of the way. Chris yanked him down by the hips and rolled against him. Jon heard himself whining. Chris flipped them.

“Gonna have to try harder than that,” he said, breathing hard. “Old dogs know more tricks.” He stretched over Jon, leaned right past him with his forearm resting on Jon's collar-bones and Jon couldn't raise his chest to breathe but he dragged at Chris until he stopped rummaging in the bedside cabinet and came back with a bottle of lube. Jon said _oh_ and Chris grinned at him. “What kind of friend wouldn't come prepared?”

He kept his arm on Jon's chest to keep him pinned while he fumbled with Jon's boxers, and Jon wanted to surge up and tear him bloody until he had a better idea and Chris caught his smirk just in time to say “What?” before Jon was jabbing him in the ribs. Chris squeaked and writhed away and that was enough for Jon to tip him onto his back and nip very lightly at his bared throat.

“I win,” he said, panting. “Lube, fingers, hurry up.”

Chris laughed out loud and lubed up his hand while Jon shed his boxers and straddled his thighs. He went slow slow slow, while Jon ground down against his fingers and tried not to swear. He hadn't done this in a while and Chris had big hands. One finger only made him more frustrated but two, the stretch and the sometimes nudge against his prostate, and Jon's resistance crumbled and he had to put a hand on himself, until Chris batted it away and took over, and Jon buried his face against his neck and breathed in the good animal scent of him, skin and sweat and the cool ripple of an alpha with young children, biological storm soothed down to calm.

“I want to ride you,” Jon said, and scraped his teeth against the tendon in Chris's neck to emphasis his point. “Hurry up, come on, get your fucking cock out, Jackson, do your _job_ -”

He was stopped by a firm hand on his jaw, pushing his head back until he had to scrabble behind himself for balance. “Language,” Chris said, “You have better manners than that.” He shook Jon's head like a wayward puppy. Jabbed his fingers deeper inside him and sparked need all along Jon's spine. “You going to behave yourself? Be good for me?”

Jon whined through his nose. Chris let him up. “Sorry,” he said. He was shivering but he kept his hands loose on Chris's shoulders. “I'll be good.”

“Better.” Chris kissed him. “Condoms are in the drawer. Grab one for me?”

Jon made a lot of embarrassing noises getting Chris's cock inside him. He preferred betas anyway but God, this would have persuaded him, Chris was going to split him open. His body welcomed the burn and transmuted it into liquid need. He was jerking himself off, almost frantic, and Chris was kissing him again. Told him he was doing fine and he'd waited long enough and he could let go now. Jon couldn't have stopped if he'd tried. He came in hot streaks over his hand and Chris held him while he gasped and kept rocking his hips, still seeking that feeling, _more more more_ , until Chris groaned softly into his mouth and said “I gotta pull out.”

“Nnnn,” Jon said, shaking his head.

“I'm not going to knot your ass. I'll hurt you.”

“Oh fuck. Alphas.” Jon shook his head, trying to clear it. “Sorry.”

“It's okay. Raise yourself up for me. Up on your knees, that's it.” Chris gave him a moment to shudder at being left suddenly empty and then tipped him over backwards onto the bed. He landed with his legs open and Chris crawled up between them, his arm hooked behind one of Jon's knees to spread him wide. Jon could feel him pulling the condom off and stroking himself and he couldn't bear it, had to snake one hand down between their bodies and tug on his own cock, jackrabbit-fast against Chris's luxurious slowness. He hooked his other arm around Chris's neck and pulled him close. Chris shuddered, his eyes slipping closed, and the sticky wetness between them got wetter. Jon kissed him, trying to snatch a few more moments of closeness, just a little more, he couldn't stop yet, he'd beg if he had to, but Chris held him open and slipped two thick fingers back inside of him. Jon keened and writhed and saw stars when he came again.

He panted against Chris with his eyes closed. Chris let his leg drop slowly, gave him time to adjust. He was half floating but even so the sheets against his back didn't scratch like they had before. Chris stayed over him, keeping him grounded.

Eventually Jon's scattered thoughts came back together and he licked his lips. “Hey, Chris. I'll do you a deal. I'll pay for room service if you stand up to get it.”

“Done,” Chris said. His chest rumbled warmly against Jon's. They probably needed – no, they definitely needed a shower, and probably a washcloth before Jon so much as rolled over. He felt that so far, it had been worth the stickiness. “I'm rubbing your back down until it gets here. No arguments.”

Jon flapped his hand, as if to demonstrate that he couldn't argue with a small teddy bear. “OK. Thanks boss. You're the best.”

Chris kissed his forehead and laughed when he tried to wriggle away.


End file.
